


it's coming up lavender

by thearchivistt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exile Arc on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Fix-It, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Ghost Wilbur Soot, Older Siblings Wilbur Soot and Technoblade, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 12:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearchivistt/pseuds/thearchivistt
Summary: Wilbur Soot did not ask to be brought back from the dead.orPhil and Techno bring Wilbur back, for better or for worse.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another multi-chapter fic maybe I have too much time on my hands
> 
> This starts about halfway through the exile arc, right after Ghostbur is sent out into the snow by Dream with the invitations to Tommy's party. I know that happened three months ago and we've gone through like fifty different arcs since then, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I hope you like it!! Kudos, comments etc are always appreciated!!

It was winter when Wilbur came back. 

You could argue it was always winter where Techno and Phil lived. Snow was on the ground almost all the time, and it was certainly never warm out. But there were months where it was so cold the water would freeze as soon as it was brought outside and they couldn’t leave the house without at least three layers of clothing on. Months where the daylight barely lasted five hours and they were forced to do most of their work in the middle of the night. 

It was during those months that Phil appeared on Techno’s doorstep with a half-melted Ghostbur, a sword in one hand and book in the other. It was during those months that the three stood in Techno’s living room, Ghostbur clutching a handful of blue rocks as Phil drove his sword through the ghost of his son’s back and broke a totem of undying. 

When the yellow and green particles in the air faded, Ghostbur was gone. In his place was his living counterpart, about to fall on his face. Techno caught him by the shoulders, laying him down across the couch next to the fire. He looked… almost exactly the same as he had before his death, save for a shock of white through his hair and a grey tinge to his skin. He still wore Ghostbur’s yellow sweater, but the handful of blue the ghost had been holding had been dropped and was now scattered across the floor. Techno busied himself picking them up. 

Nearly half an hour passed before Wilbur came to. He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. His gaze finally landed on Phil and Techno, and a look of understanding came over his face. 

“What the fuck have you done?” he said. 

* * *

Time seemed to pass slower with Wilbur around. 

Maybe it was because the man was so lethargic, or maybe it was because he barely spoke. Whatever the case, the next two weeks were the longest of Techno’s life. 

It took several days for Wilbur to be able to walk again, and even then, he needed help. He resorted to barely moving from the couch. Techno figured Wilbur was too proud to ask for help more than he absolutely needed to, and if Techno blamed his twin for that, he’d only be a hypocrite. 

Phil left only two days after bringing his son back. He asked if Wilbur wanted to come with, but Wilbur shook his head. 

“They don’t want me there. I don’t want to be there. It’s best they don’t even know I’m alive.” Wilbur’s voice, even with the time that had passed, was hoarse. 

Phil nodded sadly, and then he was on his way, leaving Techno on his own with his twin. 

He had no idea what to do. 

This Wilbur was different. He wasn’t the charismatic leader who’d brought a nation to independence. He wasn’t the madman plastering buttons to the wall and raving about unfinished symphonies. He certainly wasn’t the amnesiac ghost who wanted nothing more than for everyone around him to get along. 

This Wilbur spent most of his time asleep and never spoke unless spoken to. This Wilbur had a strange, sad look behind his eyes and dark circles under them that never seemed to go away. While the grey tinge to his skin wasn’t nearly as noticeable as it had been on Ghostbur, it was still clearly there.

Techno was left with a shell of his twin. He wondered if bringing Wilbur back had really been worth it. 

“Do you remember anything from when you were a ghost?” Techno asked one night. Wilbur was, as always, in his place on the couch, staring into the fire with dead eyes. 

“Ghostbur wasn’t me.” 

“Do you have any of Ghostbur’s memories, then?” 

“Some of them,” Wilbur rasped. “I remember… making paper lanterns. And a room underground. And books. And… compasses. I made two compasses for Tommy and Tubbo, but I don’t know why.” 

Techno nodded. “Tommy doesn’t live in L’Manberg anymore, you know.” 

Wilbur looked at him in surprise. It was the most emotion Techno had seen him express since his anger upon waking up. “Why not?” 

“Something with burning a house down? I don’t know the details of it, I’m not exactly… on good terms with them, and Phil doesn’t know much, either. But Tubbo kicked him out,” Techno shrugged. “We could visit him. If you want,” he added, carefully watching Wilbur’s expression. 

Wilbur shook his head. “I don’t think he’d want to see either of us.” 

“Fair enough,” Techno replied. He didn’t exactly want to visit Tommy, either, but he’d figure he’d offer the option. It’s not like he expected a different answer. 

The two sat in silence for several more minutes, and Techno noticed Wilbur had turned his gaze to the window. He had something like longing on his face. 

“Do you want to go outside?” Techno asked. 

Wilbur didn’t answer for several seconds. “No,” he finally replied. “I don’t like the cold.” 

* * *

Two more days passed of Wilbur doing nothing before Techno decided he needed to do something about it. So, when his twin finally woke up nearly two hours past noon, Techno stood by the couch where Wilbur sat and held out his hand. 

“We’re going outside,” he said. 

“I told you, I don’t like the cold,” Wilbur replied, rubbing his eyes. 

“I’ve got plenty of extra clothes you can put on. You don’t have to be out there for long, but you can’t spend all your time rotting in here.” 

“Techno, I don’t-” 

“It’s either this or talking.” 

Wilbur sighed heavily, but he took Techno’s hand and let himself be helped over to the kitchen table where he reluctantly put an oversized pair of boots on and slung a cloak over his shoulders. Techno handed him a pair of gloves, and he rolled his eyes, but he pulled them on anyway. 

The two stepped out of the door together, and Wilbur squinted as the sun hit his face. They walked down the stairs, and Wilbur took a seat on the bottom step, pulling the cloak tighter around him. 

“‘S not that bad,” Techno said, sitting down next to him. 

Wilbur didn’t say anything. When Techno looked over, his twin looked, if nothing else, annoyed. At least it was something, he thought. 

“Do you want to see the turtles?” Techno offered. “They’re over there.” He gestured in the direction of the small stream where he kept his turtle farm. 

Wilbur glanced in the direction Techno was pointing. “Maybe later,” he mumbled. 

_Maybe later_ wasn’t a no, Techno told himself. At least he was getting his brother out of the house to even think about going to see the turtles in the first place. 

Remarkably, they sat out on the steps for nearly twenty more minutes before Wilbur said he wanted to go inside. Neither of them said much, but progress was progress. 

It was only after Wilbur was back in his spot on the couch that Techno noticed the handful of blue stones on the table. He looked between the stones and Wilbur for several seconds before picking one up and walking over. 

Wilbur stared at the blue before taking it from Techno’s hand. “I remember this,” he said, examining the stone. “The blue ones don’t do anything, though. They’ve already got all the sadness inside them. They start out clear.”

“Oh,” Techno replied. “I’m sure I can ask Phil for some next time he visits. Ghostbur probably had a stash somewhere.” He didn’t point out how he had never once seen Ghostbur with a clear piece of blue. 

Wilbur looked up at Techno. “The blue doesn’t actually do anything, you know,” he mumbled. “He just… made it up. It doesn’t absorb sadness- hell, it doesn’t even start out clear. It seemed to make him feel better, though, and I can’t blame him for that.” 

Techno sighed. “Well, if it makes _you_ feel better, there’s a bunch of those over on the table.” 

Wilbur nodded. “It doesn’t. But thank you.” 

Later, in the middle of the night, Techno heard the floor creak downstairs. That morning, he found that every piece of blue that had been on his table was gone, and, once he went to check on Wilbur, was clutched in his twin’s hands as he slept. 

It made Techno smile. 

* * *

Several hours later, Techno was outside in the snow when he caught sight of Phil walking towards him from the direction of the nether portal. He waved, and Phil waved back, his wings spread despite the fact that they didn’t work anymore. 

“How is he?” asked Phil as soon as he got within speaking distance. 

“He’s… different. I don’t know. He’ll hardly speak to me,” Techno replied as the two walked up the steps to his door. 

“Still?” Phil had a concerned look on his face. Techno only nodded as he opened the door. 

Wilbur looked up at them blearily. “Hi,” he rasped. 

“Hello, Wilbur,” Phil replied, smiling warmly. “How’ve you been?” 

Wilbur shrugged. Techno noticed he was turning a piece of blue over again and again in one hand. 

“I brought you some of your things, if you want to look through them,” Phil said, setting a bag down on the couch next to Wilbur. 

“I didn’t have anything,” Wilbur replied, confused. 

“Ghostbur’s things, then.” Phil pulled something else from over his shoulder, something Techno hadn’t noticed- a battered guitar, with two strings missing and the rest surely horrendously out of tune. “I think this was yours, though.” 

Wilbur took the guitar hesitantly, taking a moment to look it over before giving it a strum. They all cringed at the sound it made. “Where’d you get this?” Wilbur asked. 

“I found it in Ghostbur’s home when I went looking for the rest of what’s in the bag. You- he had a better one, but I think he took it with him when he left with Tommy.” Phil took a seat in one of the chairs across from Wilbur, but Wilbur was too busy trying to tune the remaining strings correctly to notice. 

“This is the one I had in Pogtopia,” Wilbur mumbled. “I never really got to play it. It’s just been sitting there rotting for… for…” 

“About two years,” Techno supplied. 

“Two years,” Wilbur repeated. “You only let me stay dead for two years.” 

Neither Phil nor Techno knew what to say to that. 

“I’m sure we can visit Tommy sometime to get the better guitar,” Phil said weakly after a long, strained silence. 

Wilbur shook his head. “I don’t think he’d want to see me.” He set the guitar down and opened the bag, pulling out a stack of books. He silently flipped through them, and it was clear he didn’t want to talk anymore. 

“We’ll just… leave you to it, then,” Techno said, gesturing for Phil to follow him as he stepped over to the door. 

The two stood on the porch. “He seems better than when I left, at least,” Phil said. 

Techno nodded. “I knew he’d be different, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this… he won’t even _speak_ to me. I thought it would be easier. You know I’m not good with these things.”

“I can try to visit more often,” Phil offered. “I’m not sure how long it will take before Tubbo and his cabinet get suspicious, though. Quackity especially… he’s been acting strange.” 

Techno sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish Tommy were here.” 

“He certainly was the one closest with Wilbur, wasn’t he?” Phil mused. “I know Wilbur said he doesn’t think Tommy would want to see him, but it’s worth a try, bring Wilbur to visit him, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe,” Techno replied. “I think it’ll be a while before _Wilbur’s_ ready for that, though.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Phil glanced through the window at Wilbur. Techno followed his gaze, and was surprised to see his brother’s shoulders shaking as he cried. Phil looked back at Techno. “You should probably wait out here,” he said before pushing the door open and walking inside. 

Techno could only stand and watch through the window as Phil put an arm around Wilbur’s shoulders. Wilbur stiffened for only a moment before leaning into it. 

Techno turned away. He wasn’t good with things like this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an fyi I wrote a few of the chapters in advance, so the first 4-5 chapters will be coming out way quicker than they probably will in the future!! As always I hope you guys enjoy, kudos and comments are appreciated!

Wilbur Soot was a liar. 

He couldn’t think of a single time in his life where he wasn’t constantly lying. Sometimes, they were small, meaningless things- no, he hadn’t moved the sword Tommy had left out in the grass for anyone to trip over, yes, he felt fine. Sometimes, they were… much bigger things, like rigging an election or promising not to blow the country he built to smithereens.

Lying came like breathing to him. He didn’t _want_ to lie- most of the time- but he _had_ to. For his own safety, or for his pride, or for control. He couldn’t get those things through telling the truth. 

He found, in the undead state he was in now, he didn’t have the energy to lie. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to put up the facade of the well put-together politician he had for most of his life. If lying was breathing to him, he was drowning. 

Wilbur wasn’t completely sure who he was without that facade, though. All he was sure of was that he didn’t want to be here and that he was _tired._

The exhaustion faded a bit after the first week, but it never totally went away. It would linger in the back of his mind for hours before hitting him in full force out of nowhere. He didn’t dream. He never dreamed, he didn’t even have nightmares anymore, when they’d been so constant before he died. 

He wondered if they’d botched the resurrection in some way. He was _himself,_ that much was certain, but he felt like shit all the time. His skin was grey, his hair had started to go white in places, and his motor functions were miserable at best. If you’re trying to bring someone back from the dead when they don’t want it, he reasoned, you should at least put in the effort to make sure they come back not still feeling like a corpse. 

So Wilbur slept most of his time away, and he hardly spoke, and he certainly didn’t leave the house. Techno tried to help- Wilbur would give him that- but he wasn’t very good at it. It wasn’t entirely his fault, Wilbur wasn’t giving him all that much to work with. 

He didn’t notice the blue until Techno pointed it out. He had been telling the truth- a rare occurrence- when he said the rocks didn’t do anything. They’d been a placebo, but they’d done their job pretty damn well. 

He _knew_ that, he knew they wouldn’t do anything, but he still found himself getting to his feet in the middle of the night and, leaning heavily on the wall, stumbling over to the kitchen table to grab the handful of blue stones. They were cool to the touch, and he held them tightly as he walked back to the couch. 

He kept the stones in his pockets after that, occasionally bringing one out just to turn over in his hand. They helped him think. 

The guitar and the books were different. While the blue was a reminder of the life (death?) he only had fleeting memories of, the memories he had associated with the battered instrument and the bag of books were… much clearer. 

He remembered writing the L’Manberg national anthem on that guitar. He remembered playing it next to the fire with his brothers in the ravine. He remembered forgetting about it, letting it sit untouched in his bedroom for months before Quackity joined them and got ahold of it. He remembered watching from a distance as the former vice president took his place at the fire with his friends. 

The books were different. History books, most of them, dense volumes he remembered writing with help from Niki and Tubbo. It made sense that Ghostbur would keep an archive of everything- Wilbur had always been a bit of a historian himself. 

The only book in the bag he didn’t recognize was a small, slightly worn journal. He opened it curiously, wondering what Ghostbur possibly could’ve had to write about. 

_What I Remember_ was written on the first page, in neat, flowing cursive. Wilbur flipped past it to find a numbered list of… things Ghostbur remembered. _1\. The smell of bread. 2. L’Manberg. 3. The revolution._

Wilbur read through the whole thing before he realized he’d begun to cry, the tears smudging the ink. He snapped the journal shut and tucked it back into the bag. 

He tried to wipe his eyes, but the tears just kept coming until they turned into great, hiccuping sobs. He didn’t even notice Phil enter the room and sit down next to him until there was an arm around his shoulders. He flinched, but only hesitated for a moment before leaning on his father. 

“You’re alright,” Phil said quietly. 

Wilbur didn’t feel alright. He wasn’t sure what he felt like. He didn’t even know why he was crying.

He was tired.

Neither of them said anything until Wilbur’s tears finally slowed down. He sat up and wiped his eyes, embarrassed. He was a grown man. He liked to think he at least had _some_ of his dignity left. 

Phil looked at him with a sad expression. “Techno says you’re not speaking.” 

“I speak sometimes,” Wilbur mumbled. “When it’s absolutely necessary.” 

“Come on, Wil,” Phil chided. “You’re going to be here for a while, you might as well be friendly.” 

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Wilbur snapped. “I didn’t _ask_ you to bring me back. You know what I did ask of you?” 

Phil looked hurt, and that only made Wilbur feel worse, but he didn’t stop. “All I asked of you was to kill me. I thought it was implied that I wanted you to keep me dead.” 

“I wanted to give you a second chance,” Phil replied weakly. 

Wilbur laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like this was selfless of you. You did this because you felt _guilty.”_ Wilbur couldn’t seem to stop digging himself a deeper hole. “Besides, do you really think I deserve a second chance?” 

“Of course I do! You’re my son!” It wasn’t lost on Wilbur that the words directly echoed what Phil had said to him in the remains of the button room. “You’re not the irredeemable monster you think you are. No one sees you that way.” 

But that was where Phil was wrong, wasn’t it? Wilbur _wasn’t_ redeemable, and it was something he had come to terms with in Pogtopia. Embraced, even. He didn’t understand why his father was so determined to make him think he wasn’t beyond redemption. 

“You weren’t here,” Wilbur said. “You weren’t… you only saw me press the button. I was _awful._ I was-” he wasn’t sure if the tears welling up in his eyes were out of anger or exhaustion or genuine sadness. 

“Wilbur,” Phil sighed. “You needed _help._ I should’ve known that the moment I found you in the side of that hill. I should’ve known that when you handed me that sword, for Christ’s sake!” 

Wilbur was really crying again now, and he wished desperately his legs worked well enough to walk away. Phil only reached his arms around his son’s shoulders, and Wilbur didn’t have the energy to pull himself away. “Dad, I’m tired,” he said, his voice muffled.

Phil sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Wilbur felt like a child, sitting there and crying into his father’s shoulder for the second time in fifteen minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he heard the door creak open and footsteps as Techno entered the house. He sat up, looking over his shoulder at his twin. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Techno said sheepishly, shaking snow out of his hair. “It’s snowing so hard I could barely see three feet in front of me.” 

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Wilbur replied, although he was certain his red, puffy eyes suggested otherwise. 

Phil stood up, and Wilbur barely noticed as his twin and his father disappeared down the ladder to the chest room. He knew they were talking about him, but he wasn’t sure he really cared. 

He was… confused, mostly. He’d spent all of the past two weeks either asleep or lamenting the fact that he wasn’t still dead. He hadn’t given himself more than a moment to think about who he’d been when he was alive. He didn’t _want_ to think about who he’d been when he was alive. 

Still, the memories came unbidden, as memories often do. 

He could recall clear as day the moment he’d realized he was the villain. He’d been walking back from L’Manberg with Tommy as the sun started to set. Something about Schlatt’s announcement about the festival… it made him feel strange, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. 

He stopped in his tracks as it hit him. It took Tommy a moment to notice he’d stopped walking. 

“Wilbur?” He asked, turning to look over his shoulder. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur replied slowly. “Are we the bad guys?” 

Tommy had laughed in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” 

It really clicked for Wilbur then, the fact that they- that he- wasn’t doing the right thing. That he had _never_ been doing the right thing. For all his talk of independence and peace and safety, hadn’t all he really wanted from L’Manberg been power? 

It terrified him. 

More than that, it filled him with a sick kind of glee. 

The plot was already beginning to form in his head then. He could see a map of the TNT in his mind’s eye, set up perfectly so that it would all go off. He’d been the one to bring L’Manberg about, and he’d be the one to put it in the ground. 

(He knew, deep down, that he’d die with L’Manberg. He’d go down in history not as the first president of a doomed country, but as the one who put it out of its misery himself. All that mattered to him was that he wouldn’t be forgotten.) 

He shouldn’t have told anyone. He certainly shouldn’t have told Tommy as soon as the idea occurred to him. But he knew, even then, that he wanted Tommy miles away from the blast. 

(He knew he didn’t want _anyone_ nearby. For all his talk of total destruction and no survivors, the only people he really wanted dead were himself and Schlatt. His brother didn’t deserve to pay for their wrongdoings.) 

Wilbur shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He pulled a piece of blue from his pocket and absentmindedly began to turn it over in his hand, wondering how much Ghostbur had really believed in those stupid blue rocks. It certainly didn’t make him feel any better now. 

He heard Techno and Phil come back up the ladder, but he didn’t turn around to look at them. “You alright, Wilbur?” Phil asked. Wilbur gave a small nod in reply. 

“We’re thinking about adding another bedroom,” Techno said. “I’ve already got an idea of where to put it- we can attach a whole new section onto the bottom half of the house…” Wilbur nodded along as Techno explained the plan, but he wasn’t listening. 

“Wilbur?” Phil asked, bringing Wilbur out of his stupor. “Techno asked if you’d like anything from the village.” 

“New guitar strings would be nice,” Wilbur replied. He had to stifle a yawn- fatigue had crept up on him, the way it always did. 

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find those,” Techno replied, giving Wilbur an awkward smile. 

Wilbur smiled tiredly back.


	3. Chapter 3

Techno was embarrassingly excited to have something to do. 

Even if it was just building an addition onto his house, if it meant he had something to keep him busy that wasn’t watching turtles eat, he was more than happy to do it. He didn’t  _ dislike  _ the turtles, but being one of the leaders of an army and being a man who spent a good part of his time taking care of animals were two  _ very  _ different environments. 

The point was, he liked mindless work. He liked not having to worry about how to get his twin to speak to him, even if only for a few hours at a time. He didn’t even mind working in the cold all that much. 

Wilbur was doing slightly better, at least Techno thought so. He’d restrung his guitar, and Techno could sometimes hear him playing it at random hours. He’d never play it for very long, though, and it was almost always the same song- the L’Manberg anthem. 

He still slept more than was normal, and hardly spoke, or… did much of anything, really. Techno knew he had to try to do  _ something _ to help, but he had no clue where he was supposed to start. He complained endlessly about being seen only as a weapon, but had he ever made an effort to be anything else?

He pushed the thought away as he continued to build. 

The addition was coming along nicely, he thought. It didn’t look out of place like he thought it would, and Wilbur even seemed excited to have a room of his own, although it was hard to tell exactly how he felt about anything. 

After a long stretch of time passed that Techno spent just working, his mind wandered to, of all things, Tommy. 

It had been nearly four months since what was technically the last time Techno saw Tommy- the day he’d been exiled, and Techno had gone to visit him. He’d looked… well, he hadn’t looked  _ happy,  _ but being exiled would do that to a kid. All things considered, Techno thought he’d looked fine. 

Techno had offered his help, but Tommy, stubborn as always, hadn’t accepted it. He’d gone on and on about not wanting anyone’s pity,  _ especially  _ not Technoblade’s, and that had been when Techno started to tune out. 

It had been more than two and a half years since the  _ other  _ last time the two saw each other. Techno had given some stupid, prolonged speech about heroes and Greek mythology or something or other before placing the wither skulls on the tightly packed soul sand. 

(He hadn’t been able to get the sand out from under his fingernails for weeks afterwards. There was a myth that Phil had told him when he was a kid, that soul sand clung to people who were full of guilt or something like that. He’d always thought it was a bunch of bullshit.)

The whole day was a bit blurry in Techno’s mind. He remembered standing on the outcropping of cobblestone over the crater L’Manberg had been reduced to after the dust had settled and seeing his father standing on the other side, his face smudged in ash and his wings bent at odd angles. Techno was pretty sure he’d called out, but Phil hadn’t heard him. 

He remembered seeing Wilbur get to his feet and stumble over to the very edge of the crater, wavering precariously as he looked out at everyone watching in shock. He shouted something, but Techno’s ears were still ringing too much to understand what his twin said. 

Wilbur had turned to Phil then, holding out a sword with trembling hands. Techno didn’t process what was happening until it had already happened, and his brother lay dead in the rubble of the country he’d built from the ground up. 

He thought it was a bit cruel of his mind, that moment being the only thing from that day he remembered clearly. 

He was brought back to reality by the sound of a guitar, muffled through the stone walls, but audible nonetheless. He sat back against the stone wall behind him as Wilbur played a song he didn’t recognize. 

When the guitar stopped, Techno got to his feet and brushed the snow off of his clothes. It was much later than he’d thought, he realized as he looked up at the sun. 

Wilbur was waiting by the fire as always, and he gave Techno a wave as he came through the door. “It should be done soon,” Techno said. “I’m sure you’re excited to not have to sleep in here, huh?” 

Wilbur nodded. 

Techno started to quietly make himself and Wilbur dinner, while the latter pulled a book out from under the couch and flipped it open. “I’ve got more books, you know,” Techno said. “Upstairs. I can bring some down here, if you want.”

“That would be nice,” Wilbur replied. Techno, surprised Wilbur had responded at all, went up the ladder to his bedroom, where he kept several bookshelves full of whatever books he had collected over the years. He picked out four he thought Wilbur might like and was about to go back downstairs when something else caught his eye. 

It was a small red book, tucked away next to a behemoth of a history book. He pulled it out from the shelf, smiling when he read the cover. 

He’d forgotten he had this. It had been his and Wilbur’s favorite book when they were children. Wilbur had kept it with him for his entire life, right up until the last birthday they shared. 

_ They’d been only a month away from the date set for the war. Techno spent hardly any time in the ravine, instead preparing everything he could for their small army.  _

_ It had been a rare moment in which he had spent more than a few hours in the commune. He meant to be around more often than he was, really he did, but the atmosphere had gone sour since the festival. Tommy would only look at him to glare, Tubbo always seemed busy, and Wilbur…  _

_ Wilbur had gotten exponentially worse. Techno swore he was up at all hours, sometimes wandering around the ravine like a ghost, sometimes going outside, talking to himself about God knows what. That was where Techno found him, only minutes before midnight, when their birthday would start. He’d promised himself he’d show up for it.  _

_ “Wilbur, what are you doing out here?” he asked. His twin was standing- swaying, really- next to the pond a dozen or so feet from the entrance to the ravine.  _

_ “Hello, Techno,” Wilbur replied. His eyes were unfocused, and even as his brother drew closer, he didn’t seem to register it.  _

_ “We should go inside,” Techno said, hesitantly grabbing Wilbur’s arm.  _

_ “Not yet.” Wilbur pulled his arm free from Techno’s grasp. “Would you sit with me?”  _

_ Techno paused for a moment before nodding. Wilbur sat down in the patch of sand next to the pond, and Techno sat down next to him.  _

_ “It’s our birthday right about now,” Wilbur mused. “Thirty-three.”  _

_ “You’re thirty-three,” Techno corrected.  _

_ “Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever that is in piglin years for you, then,” Wilbur laughed.  _

_ Techno wasn’t sure exactly how old he was. Today wasn’t even his real birthday, but Wilbur had offered to share his when they were kids, and of course he hadn’t turned down the chance to have a twin brother.  _

_ “I got you something,” Wilbur said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, worn red book.  _

_ Techno almost laughed when he saw it. “Where the hell did you get that?”  _

_ “I’ve had it this whole time,” Wilbur grinned. “I, uh, kept it as a good luck charm for a while.”  _

_ “I can’t take your good luck charm,” Techno replied. “Come on, you always liked it more than I did, anyway.”  _

_ “It’s not that lucky, I’m afraid. It hasn’t done much for me.” Wilbur held out the book, and Techno took it, flipping it open to where they’d scrawled their names on the first page.  _

_ “You’re gonna need all the luck you can get on the 16th, Wilbur,” Techno said.  _

_ Wilbur laughed. “Trust me, you’ll need it more than I will.”  _

_ “Well, this makes my gift look kinda stupid,” Techno rummaged around in his bag for a moment before pulling out the shiny diamond sword he’d made for his brother. Wilbur took it, examining the blade and the enchantments etched into the metal.  _

_ “Nothing as sentimental as the book, I’m afraid,” Techno said. “But I hope you find it useful.”  _

_ Wilbur smiled. “Thanks, Techno.”  _

Techno tucked the red book in with the rest he planned to give to Wilbur and went back down the ladder. Wilbur was, as always, sitting by the fire, and he took the books gratefully from his twin. 

It took Wilbur a moment to notice the small red book tucked in with the others. He picked it up and flipped through the pages, but he didn’t say anything, just… stared at it. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Techno said, bringing Wilbur out of his daze. When his twin didn’t move, he added, “Why don’t you sit over here today?” 

Wilbur sighed, but he got to his feet and slowly, reluctantly walked over. He sat down across from Techno, and neither of them said anything for a while as they ate. 

“I didn’t even know I still had that book,” Techno commented when the quiet got to be too much. 

Wilbur nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Something came over Techno then- whatever frustration that had been festering for weeks finally bubbled over, and he got to his feet with a clatter. Wilbur looked up at him in surprise. 

“You can’t keep… keep wallowing like this. You _know_ you can’t. I know you didn’t want to be brought back, I get it, but you were, and sitting around and rotting in my house isn’t going to change that. You’re alive, at least act like it.” Techno knew he was being too harsh. He knew Wilbur needed help that he wasn’t providing. That he didn’t know _how_ to provide. “You’re the same age as I am. I don’t want to keep treating you like a… like a child. You’re _not.”_

Wilbur paused, making sure Techno had nothing else to say, before speaking. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Techno couldn’t keep shouting at his brother when Wilbur sounded so tired. “No, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, Wil. I just…”  _ want my brother back  _ is what came to mind first, but he didn’t say it out loud. 

“I know I don’t act like it, but I swear I do want to get better. It just doesn’t feel  _ right,  _ being alive again. I’m not meant to be here,” Wilbur said. “I was supposed to die with L’Manberg.” 

“You had a life before L’Manberg. You can have one after.” 

Wilbur just looked at him for a while, furrowing his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it again.

Techno began clearing his spot at the table. Neither of them had anything more to say. 

* * *

Wilbur’s turning point came in the form of him asking for cigarettes. 

No, it would be wrong to call it a turning point, Techno thought. It wasn’t a turning point, just a change like any other that Wilbur had gone through in the weeks since coming back. 

“I’m not letting you smoke in the house,” Techno said. 

“You have a fireplace,” Wilbur pointed out. 

“That’s different! It’s controlled.” 

“Cigarettes are plenty controlled. Did I ever start a fire when we lived in Pogtopia?” 

“Pogtopia wasn’t made mostly out of wood,” Techno grumbled, but he was already packing a bag for a trip to the village. “Do you want to come with me?” He only asked out of politeness at this point- he knew what the answer would be. 

Wilbur hesitated for a moment. “Yes.” 

“Oh!” Techno said in surprise. “Well, I’ll… I mean, you think you’ll be able to walk that far?” 

Wilbur shrugged. “I’ll be alright.” 

“You can’t ‘I’ll be alright’ your way out of biology.” 

“It’s not biology, it’s just a weird side effect of being undead. It’s not even that bad anymore,” Wilbur assured. As if to prove it, he stood up and walked over, albeit slightly unsteadily. 

“I… wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Uh, your cloak’s hanging there.” Techno pointed to the blue cloak he’d given to Wilbur all those weeks ago when they’d first gone outside. He hadn’t touched it since. 

Wilbur took it, pulled on his boots, and was ready to leave in a matter of minutes. Techno, still a little bit shocked, pushed the door open, and they were on their way. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why’re you suddenly so excited to leave the house?” Techno asked as they walked through the snow. Wilbur slowed him down considerably, but he wouldn’t ever say so out loud. 

“Honestly? I just really want a cigarette,” Wilbur replied sheepishly. Techno had a feeling there was more to it, but he didn’t press Wilbur for answers. 

Wilbur didn’t say much while they were in the village. He made them pause before they left so he could sit down and light his first cigarette in two years. 

“Those are terrible for you, you know,” Techno said. 

“I know,” Wilbur replied simply. “I’ve done much worse for myself before.” 

Techno couldn’t exactly argue with that. 

They walked back home quietly, the only sound being the crunching of snow under their boots and the occasional sharp inhale from Wilbur as he took a puff from his cigarette. 

“Wilbur,” Techno said once they were inside their house, “Are you certain you don’t want to go visit Tommy?” 

Wilbur froze. He took a long time to decide on an answer, his eyes unfocused as he looked out the window. “No,” he finally replied. “Maybe… maybe eventually. But not now.” 

“Okay. I only ask because… I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about what’s going on with him right now. I’m not sure why.” 

It was true- whenever anyone mentioned Tommy, the voices got restless, but not once did they give him a straight answer. He was hesitant to visit, though, because he knew exactly what Tommy’s reaction would be. 

(He also just didn’t want to see the kid. Obviously he didn’t want Tommy  _ dead,  _ but he didn’t want to see him if he didn’t absolutely have to, either. If Technoblade could do anything, he could hold a grudge.) 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Wilbur said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m sure he is,” Techno replied. 


End file.
